Game Boy

8 - Quest

Hours passed, dinner came, and Kenneth didn't hear back from the doctors. He picked through his food and left the full tray to one side, now swirling absent circles in the sheets of his bed. He watched the way the fabric dimpled and bounced back after each pass of his finger, fighting back the nausea of stress. After a moment his finger paused as he coughed, pain sparking inside his chest. He closed his eyes, panting and struggling to get his breath back. His hand dropped to one side as he recovered. I don't remember this much of a struggle, he thought, his nose scrunching a little as he coughed again. Dragging his hand up, he pressed it to his chest and wheezed in gently. The frigid oxygen stung his throat and nose as he gulped it down. Cracking his eyes, he turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Despite all his years here, he barely knew what the inside of this room looked like.

Why care? All he needed to escape was the game. His eyes fell to his side where the headset rested in the folds of the blanket. Reaching out, he fumbled it into his hand. I wonder if she's still logged on...he thought. Lifting it, he pulled the device over his head but hesitated at the last second. He set it back down. If the doctors came with news about his mother, he needed to be alert and ready. 

His finger traced the top of the headset still and he stared at the dormant screen inside. If only I had a tablet maybe I could check her GamerTag in the Forums and see if she's online. I could message her I suppose...about the details of the next quest.

A flush of embarrassment washed over his face in a warm tingle as he shifted back to his side. He tried to shake it from his face. I can't just randomly message her. I barely know her. Mentally chiding himself, he picked at the sheets again, rasping gently. He wanted to speak with her, though, just to tell someone what was happening. The urge was welling up to a knot in his chest. He needed someone other than a cold robot to understand his situation and tell him everything would work out, even if they knew it was a lie.

Gritting his teeth a moment, he then relaxed his jaw and sighed. His eyes dulled as he stared at the slowly falling peak he'd made in the sheets. It wasn't enough to distract from the knotted pit in his stomach, though. Whether it was hunger or loneliness, he couldn't determine, but he had a feeling it was a bit of both.

The door slid open, drawing his eyes up. He blinked and watched the nurse bot as it rolled over and collected his tray. Turning, the bot's blue orbs scanned over the readout display beside his bed. Kenneth avoided looking at it himself. Eventually, the bot turned around and rolled out without so much as a word. He let out a softer breath and coughed, his chest tight from holding it. With one hand, he massaged just under his collar bone and stared at the closing door. Bots never spoke unless they had some dire news. They came in, and they came out. Like silent shadows keeping an eye on him. There wasn't a touch of humanity to them other than their simulated humanoid forms and the occasional doctor bot that looked like a bloated nanny. Kenneth couldn't say much for their bedside manner. They probably didn't care enough to develop one. Cheap and efficient. That was the motto of just about everything now, even the medical industry. 

He raised his eyebrows briefly to the irony of it. His fingers twisted the edge of his blanket as he wondered just how they expected to remain cheap and efficient when all anyone ever cared about was money. It was no secret money ran the world, and anything could be bought out. No one really cares unless there's a green piece of paper attached to it, he thought. Maybe that explained why the bots never spoke to him. Maybe you had to pay extra for bedside manner. He let go of the blanket and watched it unfurl and lay almost flat again. Numbness crawled into his veins and he simply let his hand lay there, staring at it for no reason at all. If I had to come up with a motto for this world...something historians would say when they remember these years...Money over matter. Cliche I suppose, but it could work.